An Ode to Fallen Cynics
by always-a-time
Summary: "It was a good attempt." Eponine shakes her head, taking her eyes off the road to glance at him. "He doesn't see me like that." Grantaire scrapes his sneaker against the car mat. "He should. He should see what's right in front of him - he shouldn't take you for granted and he should stop chasing some ideal who doesn't know he exists -" (Modern!AU, fem!jolras verse.)


**Title:** An Ode to Fallen Cynics  
**Fandom:** Les Miserables, Modern!AU  
**Characters/Pairing: **unrequitted Fem!Jolras/Grantaire  
**Rating: **PG-13 for language.

Rule 63'd!Enjolras and Combeferre (Known subsequently as Joliene and Farrah.), so their names are kind of different than the others, who've kept their original names.

_For my 'sad story' anon with love._

* * *

She is a radiant force of life. Her honey gold hair accents her sharp confidence and sheer wit. Exuding benevolence, the student body throw themselves over each other to talk about her. She is golden. She is indifferent. No one is quite sure whether the general consensus is love or hate, but all of the teachers are definitely divided in their opinions. Captain of the debate team; social justice leader; radical; independent. A force to be reckoned with, he thinks. She gladly welcomes the challenge life has to offer.

And he is in love, there is no doubt about that.

He's life's fuck up, the one who makes all the wrong choices, and he truly has nothing but scars to show for it. His self-confidence has long since been shot to hell; he can hardly articulate a sentence unless he's shit-faced. His only claim to anything is that he's nobody's fool except for his own.

He is permitted to sit at her table with her group of rag-tag social-justice friends, and he takes comfort in the fact that he is at least better than Pontmercy when it comes to showing up to their meetings, even if he is completely intoxicated most of the time. His attendance is perfect and he is always on time, determined not to miss a single spoken word. He may have failed his Greek mythology unit, but he recognizes a goddess when he sees one. Yes, he will show up as long as she allows him to stay.

The Friends of the ABC are about as nice to him as anyone else at first: stiffly tolerant. He learns to make them laugh, thoroughly distracting them from his ever-present alcohol, and sometimes even their tasks, much to their leader's irritation. He relishes each and every glare he is on the receiving end of, returning them with wide, toothy grins. He is accepted. He is content. As long as he is welcome, he is sure this is where he belongs.

* * *

"Unrequited love's a bitch," he wisely tells Pontmercy one evening, after a particularly arduous rant regarding the clueless boy's apparently homeschooled mystery girl. "You're better off going for a girl who'll have you than one who's beyond reach."

Pontmercy proceeds to argue that his _blonde-blossom-flower-angel_ might love him back, completely ignoring all offered higher-thought processes. The point is he doesn't know her, Grantaire thinks angrily as he stalks off to the bar for another drink. Marius still has a chance to walk away.

"Thanks for trying, R," Eponine tells him later, when she's driving him home. "It was a good attempt." She shakes her head, taking her eyes off the road to glance at him. "He doesn't see me like that."

Grantaire scrapes his sneaker against the car mat. "He should. He should see what's right in front of him - he shouldn't take you for granted and he should stop chasing some ideal who doesn't know he exists -"

Eponine raises an eyebrow. "Are we still talking about me?"

He scowls and sinks lower into the seat. "Yes, we are."

* * *

One late evening, after the meeting has ended and people have filed out, Grantaire curled up in his corner with a can of beer. He watches with heavy lids as Farrah bids their leader farewell, adjusting her glasses and pulling on her oversized brown trench coat. Her hair is tied messily with a worn, tattered ribbon, which she's had as long as Grantaire can remember. Farrah poses a question to Joliene, who shakes her head with a smile. Farrah heads off on her own, pulling a thick textbook out of her bag, probably meaning to read it on the bus ride back to her house. Joliene returns to her paper, her brow stiff in concentration as she bites down subconsciously on her lower lip.

A long period passes before Grantaire decides to shuffle and make his presence known.

"Still here?" she asks, only managing to keep a bit of the disdain out of her tone. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"I'm alright." He doesn't want to go home anyways, not when he could be here instead, watching her work. "There's nothing for me to do at home, anyhow."

"There's nothing for you to do here, either."

Grantaire allows a sardonic smile to fall across his lips. "There's more than you might believe, Artemis."

"I suppose you got some drinking to catch up on?" Joliene sounds tired, which is out of place for her. He's always seen her as bright and eager; her every movement effortless and purposeful. He realizes the only reason she is allowing herself to be weary now is because no one is here to see it. No one but him. Grantaire rises shakily, trying to throw off the affects of the alcohol in his system as he approaches her.

She glances up at him, a tiny bit startled. "Grantaire?"

"You okay?" he questions, speaking slowly so his words won't slur. "You seem ... off."

Her face closes off immediately. Joliene turns her back on him, picking her pen back up and fiddling briefly with the cap before stopping. "I'm fine, Grantaire."

"You don't seem fine," he insists, taking another step towards her. "Is something the matter?"

"It's nothing!" she exclaims, so hotly that he flinches at the words. Joliene's fists are clenched for a minute before she relaxes again, her shoulders dropping from their defensive position. "Just leave me alone. Go home, Grantaire." When she says his name it's like a slap to the face.

He tries again.

"Joliene -" he uses her name this time, and this appears to garner her attention more fully, because she jerks her head to look at him again, her blonde curls bouncing in a lively manner around her face. Grantaire wants to reach out and touch them, but he's not permitted to do that.

Blue eyes meet his. She stands.

She is so very close, now, and he can imagine her breath on his cheek and her soft hands on his broad shoulder and - and he wonders what it would be like to kiss her. He wonders what she would do - if she would push him away; if she would allow it: he would be her anything if she would only allow it. Intoxicated with alcohol and the scent of her skin, Grantaire finds the courage to place a warm hand on her left shoulder.

Joliene blinks, startled. "Grantaire -?"

His eyes are unmasked, exposing his intent as he leans in slightly, whispering the words gently. "Do you permit it?"

Her eyes are guarded, carefully shutting herself off as her tongue slips out, unconsciously wetting her lower lip. "I- I should go. You should go."

She pulls away, then, snatching her essay off of the table and tucking it into her binder; slamming the cover shut and yanking up her bag without placing the binder inside in her haste. He stands by in silence as Joliene departs without another word.

Grantaire should've known it would end this way. It is not for goddesses to believe in cynics, he's fallen too far for that. It is only for him to believe in her, to live until his last breath with her on his mind. She might not believe him capable of anything, but he knows he is capable of love, which is the only salvation he needs.


End file.
